


Oncology and Stars

by aedonprose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, I tried to make it as fluffy as possible, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aedonprose/pseuds/aedonprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Homestuck Rarepair Swap 2015! I hope you enjoy this fic. I tried to present the why of both characters really caring for each other in the relationship, because I think that's important, and also a healthy amount of banter. Thank you for the prompt. I really enjoyed writing this! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oncology and Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saro/gifts).



JANE

'It. Uh, hm,' said Dave.

'Yes,' I said, because there really wasn't a great deal else to say.

'Well, fuck,' said my incorrigible boyfriend almost cheerfully. Hand on his hip, he stared at the thing, and ruffled his blond hair in the ultimate pose of _damn that sure looks annoying but fuck if I know what to do about it_. He did not have a tie to loosen, but I’m sure he would’ve. Every man seems to have perfected it.

We both looked in silence for a while at the perfectly ordinary microwave, which was smoking peacefully from the back left corner. It looked, without actually having a face or any expression, exactly like the guilty students in the back of my Biological Anthropology class who sneaked out the back to smoke and came back reeking of cigarettes. Smug, it looked, certain nobody had noticed the fire.

'I don't suppose Sollux could do something about this...' I flapped my hands helplessly in the direction of the microwave. I am not very savvy about technology: I rely on Dave for that, but when it came to the microwave he was, apparently, as helpless as me.

'Nah, this is far too low-tech for Captor to touch. I used to know a guy that could fix shit like this, but he was creepy as hell and I'm pretty sure he works on a ranch in Nebraska now so that does us no fucking good. Janey honey, is this important enough to go to Nebraska for? Tell me it's not. I fucking hate horses.'

'Don't let your brother hear you say that,' I said automatically. There was probably some clever response following it, but I was interrupted by the microwave, which had started making loud noises somewhere between a whistling kettle and smoker’s cough in intensity. As we watched, the smoke coming out of it turned pink, and began to curl in several different ominous-looking strands. A faint second shadow started to appear at its base as a blackish puddle of… well, of nothing really, although that does sound dreadfully dark and science-fiction-like.

'Aw, fuck,’ complained Dave, and he sat down right where he was on the tiled kitchenette floor. He leant his head against my leg, which was sweet, but rather doofy. ‘Can we just buy a new one?'

'I hardly think that this is the kind of thing we can just throw in the dumpster and hope it goes away, love,’ I said, and bit my lip. I only worked part-time at a café, and Dave didn’t have a job at all unless you counted the occasional sporadic sale of a truly awful T-shirt. I didn’t think we could afford a new microwave, let alone afford to fix the apartment walls if that pink smoke stained.

‘This is your friend’s fault,’ Dave mumbled into my jeans. ‘I knew it was a bad idea letting Roxy touch the microwave. I don’t care what she said, theoretical physics is not the same as electronics and wiring and shit, that’s like giving a fucking oncologist a pair of scissors and going _you treat bald people all the time, right? oh yeah short back an’ sides, Doc… shit wait not that short_. Seriously, I don’t give a fuck what that girl can do to the inside of a supernova, she probably doesn’t even know what AC/DC stands for - hey Jane, what does AC/DC stand for?’

I think Dave’s banter is the most comfortable thing about dating him. I love his silliness. Instead of worrying pointlessly what horrible force had possessed our microwave like I would (and was), he was sitting on the floor mumbling to me about oncology and stars. Impulsively, I patted him on the head, and he grabbed my hand and kissed it. ‘Have no fear, o Crocker the hottie, I will protect the fuck out of you and, like, duel that microwave with a sword that’s really sharp... and fucking shiny, too. So shiny the microwave’ll explode and I won’t even have to duel the piece of shit in the first place, how’s that sound?’

I smiled at him, trying not to blush. It had been months since we moved in together. I kept feeling like the warmth he inspired in me would go away, but it never did, and every time Dave did something stupid and romantic like this the tips of my fingers tingled and my heart felt twice as big.

‘I love you too, you idiot,’ I said, instead of explaining this, but I think he got the message.

One corner of Dave’s mouth ticked up ever so slightly, and he jumped up with startling energy. All of a sudden he was a head taller than me and there was a skinny arm resting comfortably around my waist. ‘Kay, then,’ Dave said as he turned his attention back to the microwave, which had started rattling. ‘What do we do about this.’

‘We could… call maintenance?’ I suggested. ‘I think there’s a maintenance crew.’ Dave leaned against the bench, then reached carefully over the back of the microwave and hooked the phone out of its cradle. ‘One-six-nine, I think,’ he said, handing it to me.

‘How do you know that and not what day of the week it is?’ I asked, and dialled.

DAVE

Maintenance’s response, via telephone, was some shit roughly along the lines of: ‘OH JESUS FUCK NO, ARE YOU THE SORRY DOOMED ASSWIPES WHO WERE FUCKING UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO LAND ROOM 413? IF IT’S ABOUT THE MICROWAVE, I’M BUSY FOR THE NEXT TWELVE CENTURIES. I HAVE PAPERWORK SO FAR PAST MY EYEBALLS THAT IF YOU CLIMB TO THE TOP OF THE STACK, YOU CAN SEE THE CURVATURE OF THE EARTH. I CAN DEFINITELY NOT FIX YOUR GOD-FUCKING-TERRIFYING CURSED APPLIANCE. HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY.’ There was a click, and a buzz. Jane threw the phone at the floor, where I had been sitting like five seconds before. It bounced off one of my legs.

‘What a shithead,’ I said.

‘Actually, he reminded me of you a little,’ answered Jane, and smiled cheekily at me. God, I love her smile. And how she is this perky in the face of shit like a fucking _cursed appliance_ will always escape me. The girl’s unstoppable.

The microwave tooted angrily, and we both looked back. ‘...but this means, unfortunately,’ Jane added, ‘that we have to fix this problem ourselves!’ In the interests of looking productive, I bent down and looked under the bench. ‘Maybe we can just unplug it?’ I heard from behind me.

‘I should make a movie out of this,’ I remarked (shoot me, it was interesting). ‘How about… Micro-splosion?’

‘A detective movie,’ Jane corrected. ‘You photograph dead birds and things, Dave: you are a classy film-maker, and you know you love film noir.’ Yanking the plug out, I noticed, did nothing to stop the microwave’s noises or the smoke, which was now turning a terrifying shade somewhere between purple and green… shit. I made a face.

It was about the smoke, not the detective movies, fuck you.

‘Hey, I love _you_ ,’ I said to her, squeezing her hand and standing up again. ‘So, close the fuck enough. What about… Jane Crocker and the Mystery of the Smoking Microwave?’

‘It’s perfect,’ Jane said, glaring at the microwave in question, which looked smugger than ever. Fuck that microwave, I thought, as it puffed obnoxious shitty Technicolor smoke in my face.

‘Maybe we can adopt it,’ I said. Jane laughed, but only sorta. It was a shitty little pissy laugh, which is what you do when you’re thinking about something else that’s way more fucking important than whatever your idiot boyfriend’s saying, like, oh hey there’s a cursed microwave in our kitchen and we don’t have another one. The microwave did a little tootle like it agreed with me. Ladies and gentlemen, if your microwave’s fucking sentient enough to agree with you on something, shit is wrong in your kitchen. Shit is doing all sorts of illegal things in your kitchen, hell, probably in cahoots with the microwave.

Jane is the problem-solver in our relationship. I am the mumbler.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘How about: we order pizza, and we eat the _entire fucking thing_ , and we don’t give the microwave any. And it’ll get so disappointed that it just fades away.’

‘If you want pizza, then go right ahead,’ Jane said wryly. Damn, what can I say: the girl knows me well. I grabbed the phone again and ordered, slinging my other arm over her shoulders and bending close so she could hear it too.

‘Hawaiian?’ I asked past the dial tone.

‘Of course you know the number of the pizza place, too,’ Jane sighed, but her eyes were doing that pretty sparkly shit that Jane’s eyes do and I figured it was a kind of exasperated love sigh. Like if you were married to a clown. I know I’d pretend to be pissed if they had juggling balls and facepaint everywhere, but really that’s just… part of the shitty clown package. And Jane had definitely accepted the shitty Strider package.

Goddamn, I love that girl. Knowing she picked me when there are, like, guys with muscle or degrees in physics or fucking incredible singing voices instead of loud shower voices… that kind of fucks my head up to be frank. And she thinks I’m the crazy one.

Wait, fuck, I totally am the crazy one.

‘I want the one with pepperoni on it,’ Jane said. ‘Which one is that?’ The microwave rattled agitatedly, and began rocking back and forth.

‘Fuck if I know,’ I said happily. ‘Can I just ask the dude -’

‘- or lady, Dave -’

‘- or lady,’ I complied, ‘for the pepperoni one?’ The microwave was making some pretty impressive noises. I snuck a quick look at it, but, like, it wasn’t leaking or on fire, so I focused on pizza. I kind of felt bad for the thing. Its appeal had faded so fast, like those washed-up comedians you see trying to be hip and pretend everybody still loves them, but the world's kind of sick of them by now: _hey guys, notice me, notice me, what do you call a fairy with B.O.? got any spare change_? Our microwave had rapidly become the shittiest comedian ever.

‘What do you call a fairy with B.O?’ I asked Jane. I just made that up. I didn’t know what the fuck the answer was.

‘What?’ she said. The microwave really didn’t like being left alone. Spoilt fucking piece of shit: we should never have reheated all that Chinese takeout. Now it thought it was fucking special, and it was squeaking to prove it..

‘Let’s move out of the kitchen,’ I said a bit louder, and waved my hand at the door. ‘This microwave is really fucking loud, and I don’t feel like it’s earned all the attention it wants from us. - Yeah, hi, Skaia Apartments, number 413, we wanted a… what’s the one with the pepperoni on it called? A… pepperoni pizza, wow, love the name… yeah, one of those - holy _shit_!’

The microwave, which had been rocking faster and faster, suddenly disappeared with a bang. Like, there is no better way to put that, it just did. One second it was there, and then the next second it was gone and the whole room smelt kind of like garlic. I grabbed Jane, and she grabbed me, and we just stood there for a bit and stared at the black spot on the bench where it had been.

‘Spoilt piece of junk,’ I said finally. Jane laughed, and buried her head in my chest. ‘Now we have to buy a new one,’ she said. The words came out kind of muffled, not that I minded.

‘Hey, could’ve been worse,’ I said lightly. And back me up here, it really was kind of fucking funny. ‘I mean, the fridge could’ve gone too, and then where would we be?’

**Author's Note:**

> stinkerbell  
> if anybody was interested. you call a fairy with B.O. stinkerbell  
> or just their name that would work too  
> happy rarepairstuck :)


End file.
